


With God as Our Witness

by wolf antlers (space_adventures)



Series: Halloween Collection 2020 [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Nipple Play, Plague, Religion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:47:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27201319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/space_adventures/pseuds/wolf%20antlers
Summary: “I don’t know if she’ll—” He couldn’t get the last word past his lips, and Tom’s fingers moved up his neck, wrapping around the length of his throat. Tom didn’t squeeze tightly, just enough to remind Harry that he was stillthere,he wasreal,and Harry leaned back into his chest with a sigh. “I apologise.”
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Series: Halloween Collection 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1973395
Comments: 2
Kudos: 42





	With God as Our Witness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kurofu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurofu/gifts).



> I'm really bad at daily uploads, but this is day... 5's fic. I'm a bit burnt out, to be honest, so I may take a bit of break~ and work on something else instead. ~~I have some ideas.~~
> 
> **Prompt:** Religion, discipline/punishment
> 
> Thanks to Brie for beta reading! Thanks to my enablers~

Rain batted against the window panes, echoing throughout the dull, sparsely decorated room, sound only matched by the feverish scrawl of a nib on parchment. A man sat, hunched over a desk, counting small coins and scribbling down their numbers next to names.

They were donations, given by the poor, plagued people on the streets in exchange for the church’s protection and healthcare.

He cared for all the people in their congregation, and it was with a heavy heart that he waited for the clock to chime twelve, finishing the daily financial logging.

Tom came in on the final chime, door squealing as he pushed it open, and then his hand — bare, slightly damp — slid around Harry’s neck, settling heavily under the collar of his shirt.

“Another one dead; Xenophilius passed last night. The Lovegood girl is locked inside and boarded up.” Tom sighed, and his thumb carefully stroked Harry’s clavicle, head resting on Harry’s shoulder as he wrote it down. Half their parish was gone now. He couldn’t wait for summer to end and take with it the neverending sickness and death.

“She’s just a child, Tom.” He longed to bring her into his arms, to hold her tight and keep her hidden away from the dangers of the streets. She was such a sweet girl, if a bit absent-minded. “I wish we could put her in one of the spare rooms here.”

“You know it’s not possible.” Tom was right. Harry slumped, putting his quill down and turning, meeting Tom’s eyes.

“I don’t know if she’ll—” He couldn’t get the last word past his lips, and Tom’s fingers moved up his neck, wrapping around the length of his throat. Tom didn’t squeeze tightly, just enough to remind Harry that he was still _there_ , he was _real_ , and Harry leaned back into his chest with a sigh. “I apologise.”

“Don’t.” Tom’s breath was hot, heavy, and the sudden mood change from sad to sultry left him dizzy. Suddenly, Tom’s fingers had a different meaning, beyond comfort, beyond grounding. Harry gasped as Tom’s mouth found his neck and tilted his head, allowing Tom more room. He could feel the purple mark forming under his skin, and knew he’d be covering his neck properly tomorrow. The idea of Tom marking his skin was enough to set him alight, to inflame his body with _need_ and _want_. “Did you finish the rest of your work?”

“No, I’m sorry. I—” He bit off, gasping as Tom’s teeth sunk into his neck, right over the previous mark. The tender skin ached, but arousal shot to his groin anyway.

He used to be embarrassed about his attractions, but Tom taught him better, taught him to accept himself and still follow their religion. First and foremost, their beliefs stood with the church, with God. It wasn’t against the Bible to be interested in men, to want the touch and taste of their skin on his lips. It wasn’t against the Bible to act on it — they’d gone through all the pages, combing through them rigorously before they took over here. They’d come a long way since they were young orphan boys with too much self-hatred and guilt to act on their mutual pinings.

“I believe you deserve to be punished then,” Tom said, and Harry whimpered as the hand around his throat disappeared, snaking down his body. Harry’s clothes were thick, as was customary, but Tom still found what he was looking for, no matter what Harry wore. Tom ran his fingers over the slight nub of Harry’s nipples and he gasped, pushing into it. “Start writing.”

“What?” Tom pinched and Harry’s hand shook as he sought the quill again, squeezing his legs together as Tom’s index fingers ran soothing circles over the covered skin. He wanted Tom to unbutton his clothes, to touch him properly without the painful friction of cotton against his sensitive skin. But this was a _punishment_ — Tom didn’t want him to feel _too_ good. 

He carefully flipped through the pages, back to his previous work. Records were boring, but he found himself enjoying them the more often he had to do them. However, with a distraction like Tom, touching him so sinfully, he could hardly count at all. If his handwriting was a little more sloppy than usual, Tom didn’t mention it. When he slipped up Tom pinched and when he didn’t Tom stuck with those teasing circles.

By the end of the page he quivered with need, longing for Tom’s hand around him.

“Well done,” Tom said, sharp eyes catching everything. Harry shivered at the praise, a casual comment contrasted by the lust drowning out the normal tones of his voice. Like this, he made Harry want to submit himself, even if he never could. “But do you deserve a reward?”

Tom liked playing these little games, giving him questions with no answer. He didn’t reply, but it didn’t matter because Tom clearly had his mind made up already, fingers seeking the multitudes of small buttons lining the front of his robe. He let himself be bared to Tom’s eyes, with only the rain as their witness. The cold was biting here, drafts slipping in through little cracks and crannies hidden throughout the church despite the seemingly never-ending heat of the season. Harry’s nipples stiffened immediately, almost painful as his undershirt slipped off.

No one else had seen his skin once he reached majority and he didn’t mind having Tom be the only one to see him, with the scars from lashings across his back, the pucked scar on his arm where someone stabbed him. Tom had left his own marks as well, blooming in purples and gross greenish browns under the skin of his chest, his thighs, his neck. He liked them, the claims of ownership they were.

“With God as our witness,” Tom murmured, pinching Harry’s nipples and kissing his neck as he moaned. “I’d like to marry you someday.”

“ _Oh_ , Tom, I-I want it so bad—” He gasped, heat blooming in his stomach like a fiery furnace roaring to life.

“Then have it, have _me_.” Tom’s cold nose pressed into the dip behind Harry’s ear and he wanted to pull away, but Tom held fast, not letting him move away. “I’ve heard of people — _men_ marrying, in a holy union. No one would have to know — just us and God. If he didn’t believe in our love he would’ve punished us for it by now.”

But weren’t they being punished right now, with death sweeping the streets and darting in and out of houses like a morbid dance of despair? He didn’t voice that thought though, nodding along to Tom’s crooning voice, eyes blurring as Tom finally, _finally_ reached down and touched him, grabbing his groin through the thick fabric pooled above it. He wanted it, wanted Tom, even if they could never be wedded legally.

He looked out the window, at the streets where the poor lived, chimneys smoking as people cooked, the lingering stench of death cradling their city, and, selfishly, he wanted to spend the rest of his days with Tom here, together.

“ _Yes—_ ”

Even if they didn’t survive the summer.


End file.
